The Quantum Theory of Reincarnation
by donmesswitpanda
Summary: Once, I was a different person. I don't know who that person was, but it wasn't Clemency Aifric Trinity Holmes. This new life is surely challenging, but I'm going to make the best of it. (By making sure Sherlock doesn't accidently kill himself, of course. How does one do that in a private school for all girls again?) Self-Insert. OC-Centric.


**The Quantum Theory of Reincarnation**

 **By Donmesswitpanda**

 **A/N: Hello once more good readers! I know I already have a story out, but I always like to keep two ongoing series at the same time. It's great practice! For those of you here wondering about "Emmalyn Southers isn't in North Carolina Anymore", Rest assure! I'm currently working on that chapter and will continue to work on it after the chapter here is posted. I will attempt to get a schedule up, and am aiming for ESIINA to be updated every Friday and for this to be updated every Saturday. All that pesky stuff aside, please do enjoy this new edition to the Sherlock Fandom!**

Prelude

I had first read of The Quantum Theory of Reincarnation on Roger Ebert's Internet journal. At the time, I didn't think much of it. Honestly, it just didn't apply to me. The only reason I even bothered reading the page was because of a school paper worth 40% of my grade. I couldn't afford to fail Social Studies that year, so I begrudgingly read it. I did wind up making an A, and when I did I just completely forgot the information.

I do, however, remember one paragraph very clearly. " _Therefore, our identities were assembled from this quantum material, or Ether, by the organizing principle of our conception of ourselves. We bring ourselves into being. Our consciousness is the gravitation. We came from whirling nothing, we return to whirling nothing. The dust we came from and the dust to which we return are not really there, but thinking makes it so."_ And always I wondered what he meant from that.

The point I do believe he was trying to make is that it's the mind that's the person, not the body, if that makes any sense to you. We make ourselves, we are our own soul. If you really choose it, if you honestly think to yourself in the last moments of your life that _This isn't the end for me, it can't be,_ then It won't be. You will continue on in another body. I don't believe one is supposed to remember your past life.

Well, when I say remember, I don't mean every detail. I don't remember my name, or my parents, or the younger brother I'm sure I had, but I recall them in the back of my head. Ever since my brain developed in the womb of my new mother I've been active. I remember words, but I don't know why. I remember future event that haven't even happened currently, I remember technology that isn't developed yet. I remember, but I don't.

I know that before my birthday was March the Seventh, but now it's January the 6th. My name is now Clemency Aifric Trinity Holmes, and before I only had a first name and last name. My parents are rich in this life, or at least I think they are, I've only been here for about a year or so. I haven't yet been able to identify the year yet. In my last life my parents were on Welfare.

I also have a twin brother named William Sherlock Scott Holmes. The family has taken to calling him Sherlock instead of William. I have not a clue why they decided to do this with him and keep referring to me as Clemency. God, the name is far to posh for me. Sherlock agrees with me. When he started talking at five months, I did to. He's the real infant here, and I'm going to follow each of his milestones carefully.

Today is our birthday, and I only know this because Mycroft said so. "It's you're birthday," He told us when we stared at him in confusion after congratulating us. The eight year old seems horrified by the idea of us not knowing what a birthday is. "You two do know what that is, right?" Like a toddler would, anyways.

"Birdday?" Sherlock asks, a giggle in his voice. "No! Whad id it?" Mycroft rolls his eyes at his little brother.

"You have to guess." God, I hate it when Mycroft makes us guess things. I do suppose it's an effective way to teach Sherlock new vocabulary, and Sherlock loves learning. When Mycroft isn't at that stupid day school for exceptionally smart children, he's making us guess things. Next year mummy is sending him off to some boarding school. Sucks for him. I'll be relieved because I find My older brother's antics highly annoying. He turns to me after Sherlock fails miserably. Poor thing. "Clemency?"

"Um," I roll my eyes to the back of the head, looking for an answer on the ceiling. Dark curls obscure my vision, so all I see is hair. I really need a trimming. "nu-uh."

He sighs, sounding annoyed. " _Fine._ I suppose I'll tell you." Mycroft's chubby face looks annoyingly smug, and the look is tripled with his hairdo for some reason. Mummy coddles him to much, because I swear his hair gel costs a whole McDonald's Store. I forgot what a McDonald's is, but I think it's an American fast food restaurant. I believe I was an American in my past life. "It's the day you were born."

I wrinkle my nose and prepare for an answer, but Sherlock beats me to it. "Really?" His adorable grey eyes brighten to a light blue. God, for a one year old, he's very expressive. I'm quite positive he's going to be a prodigy child. Most prodigy children are treated as freaks, as I recall from my past life. I'm sure I myself wasn't a Prodigy, but I believe a friend of mine was. He was a lonely boy, and I think he wound up killing himself.

This sends a shudder rippling through my small body. No, Sherlock won't be like my friend. In fact, I'll make sure he gets all the glory he deserves in life. William Sherlock Scott Holmes will be the brightest and happiest little prodigy ever, even if it kills me. And, I will never ever let him be alone. He doesn't deserve it, because even as a twelve month old baby, he's the most amazing thing ever. Mycroft may not believe, nor mum and dad. But I do, and that's all that matters.

In the past life, I may have been Kim Kardashian. (I don't know who that is, but she's probably super famous. I think she's a singer?) I could have found the cure for cancer, or became the first female president. In this life however, none of that matters. I'll in the shadow of Sherlock. Clemency Aifric Trinity Holmes is a star compared to Sherlock's moon.

With that thought in mind, I tune back to Mycroft's little learning session with Sherlock. "-And there are 12 months in a year. Yours lands on the first month, January. It's on the sixth." Any normal one year old would have let this information fly right by their head. Most likely drooling and releasing their bladder in a diaper. (For the record, we're both potty training right now.) Sherlock isn't normal though. He grips this information tight, and listens in on every word.

"How come me and cwem share birddays?" Sherlock asks, ever so the eager child to learn. Since he spoke his first word (Which was Urinating. I couldn't help but to laugh at that. I kept my first word simple. Food.) he's been asking questions. Mycroft turns beet red and dismisses his inquiry. I wonder why the hell an eight year old would know enough to turn such a colour.

 **A/N: Also, if you'd be so kind, submit an OC for me! I need for Clemency to have friends, and I shall select either 10 or 15 at first. Later on, I will open up this again. It's quite simple, and all you need to do is fill out this thing and send it through the P.M. Also! I'm mainly looking for females! Males are more than welcome as well, of course but I need females for a specific purpose. Also, keep in mind that at first your character will be nine years of age. As they age along with the story, I'll ask you to update your OC along with it. Thank you!**

Name:

Ethnicity:

D/O/B:

Appearance:

History:

Personality:

 **See! Simple. As they are children there really is no need to elaborate to much.**

 **EACH PERSON CAN ONLY SUBMIT THREE OCS. GARY-STUS/MARY-SUS SHALL BE OVERLOOKED~**


End file.
